Chapter II: Captain Jack

KATHLEEN MOUNTFORD was silent for a few moments after listening to what she called "one of aunty's sermons." But in her heart she owned the truth of it, and her generous nature impelled her to speak.

"I think you always come off conqueror in a fight with self," she said. "Every one who knows you would say that you are ever ready to speak of your blessings, and that your trials are kept to yourself. I, on the contrary, have but a single grievance, and I take every opportunity of airing it. Most girls would be so glad and thankful to be placed as I am, that they would forget they had an excuse for grumbling at all."

"I am going to try not to spoil your drive, dear, but, like the parrot we have all read about, I am afraid I shall 'think the more.'"

"However, I will confess beforehand the spirit that is in me. I am seeing Mrs. Stapleton and her surroundings all the time. I am forced to own that her turn-out is perfection, but I am certain my Polly is equal to her Princess any day; that I should look as well as she does, and equal her at managing my horse, if I had the chance; that Polly would fly over the ground, and, as I am a lighter weight, would pass her steed like the wind. And all the while we are lumbering on in a carriage with old Mountain on the box, as if I were a dowager of seventy, instead of a girl not quite twenty. I have everything, but I am debarred from what I most long for, and the 'but' spoils the rest. I have done now, aunty. Said all that was in my mind. Now I shall struggle after a more contented spirit, and, whether I get it or not, I mean to be outwardly amiable for your sake."

Kathleen laid her hand on Mrs. Ellicott's. The latter pressed it lovingly, and no more was said about the girl's grievance.

Old Mountain, on the box, had thoughts very similar to those which exercised the mind of his young mistress, when Mrs. Stapleton cantered past.

"She looks a picture, a real pretty picture," thought he. "But our young miss would beat her on Polly. It does seem a pity she should be inside a carriage instead of outside a horse, though anybody might be proud to drive the like of Miss Kathleen. She's the image of her mother, and has a deal of her spirit too. No doubt the master saw it, and felt it would be best to make her promise as he did. Whether she likes it or not, he meant it for her good, and her poor mother paid dearly for breaking her word, though I don't suppose Miss Kathleen knows about that."

The coachman was right. Kathleen only knew that a few years ago, before the death of her father, he had exacted a promise from her to the effect that, so long as she remained unmarried, she would never join the Hollingsby or any other hunt.

"I say, so long as you are unmarried, Kathleen; for I hold that the wishes of the father, whether living or dead, must yield to those of the husband, when the daughter becomes a wife. But give me this promise, and a pledge that you will never appear on horseback, at meet or in the hunting-field, so long as you are Kathleen Mountford, and never after you change your name, except by the wish of your husband, and under his protection."

Kathleen readily gave the promise, which seemed a light one to the girl of fifteen. Mr. Mountford was ailing at the time, and she would have done anything in the world to give him pleasure. Then, after his death, and the contents of his will became known, the girl was hurt to find that Mr. Mountford had not contented himself with simply exacting a promise from her. He had attached certain penalties to any breach of Kathleen's pledge, and had she disobeyed his command, she would have paid for doing it by the loss of a large portion of her property.

Here was the sting of the whole affair.

"He might have trusted me," sobbed the girl. "I never broke my word to him, and now he is gone, a promise made to him is ever so much more sacred in my eyes. It will always be love for my father, not the thought of what I should lose, which will keep me from breaking my word, though he is no longer here to know that I do it."

A very thin thorn in the flesh will give pain quite out of proportion to its size. So with Kitty Mountford's grievance. Because it was a solitary one, it was perpetually making itself felt.

In a famous hunting county like Woldshire she was constantly reminded of it. All through the two last seasons she had writhed under the condolences of her unwise, but well-meaning friends. To one and all she gave jesting replies, answered with a ringing laugh, and made light of the whole affair.

"I am quite certain I should never care to join in a hunt, were I not prohibited from doing it. I am a daughter of Mother Eve, and my case is like hers. I have all but that one tree in my earthly paradise. I trust, nay, I feel sure, that I shall not follow Eve's example, in putting out my hand for the forbidden fruit."

Or Kathleen would vary her answer—

"The Hunt is my Bluebeard's chamber. But I will not unlock the door and suffer, as Mrs. Bluebeard had nearly done. You may risk your necks and steeds if you choose, and, provided you return unharmed, you shall come and tell me of your hairbreadth 'scapes and gallant doings in pursuit of a miserable fox. I can listen without envy, and Aunt Ellicott shall lift up her hands in horror, and lecture you roundly for joining such a barbarous crew as go to make up the Hollingsby Hunt."

Thus much for the past, as explaining the present mood in which Miss Mountford found herself.

As the carriage rolled on, Kathleen saw many a rider in black or scarlet, with snowy buckskins and shining spurs, on the way to the meet. Humbler riders there were, who made no brave show, either in person or dress, but whose horses, viewed by a judge, would have been deemed likely to hold their own through a long day's sport.

Vehicles of all sorts were carrying spectators, and it was quite impossible not to be pleased at the sight of trim huntsmen and merry faces.

All at once Kathleen's cheeks flushed crimson, as a pair of riders came abreast of the carriage. The elder of the two, Captain Torrance, would have liked Mountain to stop his horses, but the coachman was obstinately blind to his signal, and, if anything, increased the speed, to Kathleen's hardly-veiled annoyance. The girl could not suggest a pause. At the first glimpse of Captain Torrance, Mrs. Ellicott had become absorbed in the prospect at the opposite side of the way.

Kathleen could only return the salute of the rider, who bared and bent his handsome head, until it nearly touched the saddle.

Captain Jack, as he was usually called, was not disconcerted. He was quite contented with the sight of Mrs. Ellicott's bonnet-crown only. By her turning away she had enabled him to look Kathleen full in the face with undisguised admiration. He quickly noted the flush of pleasure which overspread it when he approached.

"Ignore me as you like, old lady," he said to himself, "so long as your fair ward's face lights up when I come near, and its expression is so eloquent, I care not which way your head is turned, or whether you smile or frown at Jack. Torrance. Come on, Ralph, or we shall be late," he said aloud, addressing a handsome, boyish imitation of himself, suitably mounted.

The little fellow looked gleefully at his father, and urged his pony on. It was a spirited little thing, and, like its youthful rider, had chafed at the momentary slackening of speed, when abreast of Miss Mountford's carriage, so away went the pair of riders at a rapid pace.

Captain Torrance was a widower with this one boy of nine years. Parent and child were almost inseparable, the child being taken everywhere that it was possible for him to go with his father.

"More's the pity," said many, who saw Captain Jack and little Ralph so constantly together.

"That young chip is the very model of the old block," thought Mountain, as he glanced at the boy. "Same black eyes, curly hair, and dreadnought look with him. And it stands to reason that the child will be like his father in ways, growing up with such a pattern always beside him. Captain Jack is fond of the lad, according to his lights; pity he doesn't show his love by sending Master Ralph to a good school a long way off, where his father wouldn't find it convenient to call too often. There's the making of a fine man in him; but he'll be marred;¹ he'll be marred past the mending. His mother was a sweet young lady, too, with a fine fortune. But she is gone, and if all tales be true, it is gone, or pretty nearly so, while Monk's How, the captain's property, is mortgaged to the full worth of it."

¹Spoiled.

"They do say the captain is on the look-out for another wife with plenty of money. There are not so many of that sort about, and girls, with fathers and mothers to see that they don't throw themselves away, will be kept out of his reach as far as possible."

Mountain's thoughts became a prayer, and he murmured, "God grant that Captain Torrance may not set his mind on my dear young mistress, or, if he does, that her eyes may be opened to see what he is, and what her life would be as his wife!"

"But then girls can seldom look farther than a man's face, if it is a handsome one, and if it's ugly, they won't look at it at all, however good a heart may be shining through it."

"I saw what the captain was after when he came by just now. He would have liked me to stop, so as he might poke his head in at the window and tell Miss Kathleen what a cruel shame it was that she must not ride Polly to the meet. But I can be a match for the captain when I'm on the box. I was not going to stop for the lifting up of his hand. There's none so blind as them that won't see, and I only pretended I didn't see him, and whatever Miss Kathleen may feel about it, I know the old mistress would be pleased, for anybody can tell that she cannot abear the captain."

Mountain laughed and chuckled to himself at the thought of having out-manoeuvred clever Captain Torrance, but he was not wholly successful in the long run. Later on, when Miss Mountford was looking with mingled envy and admiration at the gay gathering in front of Hollingsby Captain Jack found the opportunity which he had vainly sought on the road.

He brought his boy to the side of the carriage, and managed to say all the sympathetic words to Kathleen which were certain to have an irritating effect upon her.

By way of showing her vexation at not being allowed to display her pretty figure and fine horsemanship, and thus divide the honours with Mrs. Stapleton, she manifested her interest in little Ralph Torrance, and detained him and his father until the last minute before the start for Helmer Wood. She praised the boy's dress, seat, pony, looks, in short, everything about him, and when Ralph asked, "Why do you not ride, Miss Mountford?" she answered, "I am not old enough to be trusted, Ralph," with an upward glance at the captain, half expressive of indignation, half of amusement.

"Why, you are grown-up, and ever so much older than I am. I was nine last week, you know, but of course you are a girl—a lady, I mean—and you couldn't go by yourself, could you?"

"Not very well, Ralph; but I think somebody might be found to take care of me," replied Kathleen. "Only I must not ride for all that."

"I see," said Ralph, gravely. "You have no father like I have. Father has taken such care of me, and shown me how to ride so well, that now I'm not a bit afraid. I could almost take care of you. Anyway, father would, I'm certain, for he says I want scarcely any looking after. You would look after Miss Mountford, would you not?" said Ralph, turning his bright eyes from Kathleen's face to his father's. Then he added, "Wouldn't it be just lovely for us three to go together?"

"Quite too lovely," replied the captain, as he gave his boy's curly head a pat. "Bravo, Ralph! You know how to contrive matters. I should be glad indeed if I were privileged to take care of Miss Mountford. I hope she knows that I would shield her from harm at the cost of my life."

The speaker did not look at the boy, but at Kathleen, as he answered the questions. The last sentence reached her ears only, and her face was all aglow in an instant, for the captain's look was more eloquent than were his words.

It was well that at this instant the huntsman's horn gave the signal for starting. Ralph was far too eager to disobey it, and, with a farewell salute to Kathleen and a laughing glance at the high-spirited lad who was already in advance of him, the captain joined the gay cavalcade on the way to Helmer Wood.

Kathleen bent from the carriage window, and watched until the gay procession was lost in the wood-then the order was given to Mountain to turn his horses homeward.

Kathleen lay back in the carriage seemingly lost in thought. The sky might keep its blue or become cloudy, the sun might shine, and leaf and berry glow with bravest colouring, but all were lost upon her now. Still, her thoughts must have been pleasant ones, for now and then a smile flitted across her face, and it kept the colour summoned to it by the questions of Ralph and the responses of his father.

Mrs. Ellicott was thoroughly annoyed. She strongly disliked Captain Torrance, or rather the character of the man, and she was not a little afraid of him. Who could look at his handsome face and perfect turn-out, and hear his well-turned compliments, without dreading the effect of them on a girl like Kathleen?

It was said of the captain that he gave way to outbursts of passion, and that he was overbearing and tyrannical to a degree, where servants and dependants were concerned. That to such his speech was coarse, and often profane. That the boy, so like him in person, resembled him also in his faults, and that both were on the high-road to ruin.

These things were, however, all matters of hearsay to Mrs. Ellicott, for in the company of ladies who so courtly as Captain Jack? Who so gentle in speech, winning in manner, delicate and apt in paying compliments and doing honour to the sex as he? So, whilst the young admired and listened with pleased faces and heightened colour, prudent mothers hovered round their daughters whenever the captain approached them.

During the few minutes that he held converse with Kathleen at the carriage window, Mrs. Ellicott had shown as plainly as possible that his presence was anything but agreeable to herself. A stiff inclination of the head in response to his low bow, as brief replies as were consistent with civility to his inquiries after her health, and a reserve and stiffness of manner very much unlike Mrs. Ellicott, marked her reception of Captain Torrance.

These indications of the elder lady's feelings only amused Captain Jack, and again he asked himself, "What care I whether the aunt frowns or not, so long as Kathleen smiles, and a little compliment from my lips can bring that lovely colour to her cheeks? She is pretty enough and sweet enough for a man to give his heart to, quite irrespective of her more substantial attractions," mused the captain. "If I were a rich man, instead of being worse than poor, in debt, I should delight to lay my fortune at her feet. Knowing this, I have less compunction about taking hers, if I can get it, along with her sweet self. How like her mother she is! Fair, and with the same lovely Irish eyes that poor Mrs. Mountford had. I could never name the colour, and sometimes I thought they were deep grey, at others violet, but both mother's and daughter's were of the tint that I never saw except in an Irish girl's head. They remind one, by their liquid brightness, of the glorious nights we see now and then, when the stars seem as if they were fairly trembling and quivering with light. My Adela was handsomer than most fair women, but she was not to name beside Kathleen Mountford."

"I wish Ralph were like his mother, instead of being such a ridiculous image of me. I do not want the boy to grow up another Captain Jack, and sometimes I think, if his face were a reflection of Adela's, it would help me to be a better man, by reminding me of all she was to me. I love the boy even more for his mother's sake than for his own." No one could doubt the captain's affection for his son, however much opinion might be divided as to his manner of showing it. The redeeming trait in his past life had been his unswerving devotion to his wife, during the few years they spent together. He might well love her when living, and reverence her memory when dead.

She had given him her whole heart, when men and women were looking coldly upon him. She had refused to listen when friends would have told her hard truths and whispered words of warning. She had repaired his damaged fortune by the gift of her own, and thought nothing too good to bestow upon him.

Captain Torrance might spend his wife's money as recklessly as he chose; if only he were the happier for doing it, she never complained. Her single regret was, that she had no more to give. It was perhaps well for Mrs. Torrance that she did not live long enough to become fully acquainted with the darker, more selfish sides of her husband's character. These would have shown themselves, had money failed during their short married life. There was no scarcity of cash, no call for self-denial on the captain's part, so he remained an ideal husband in the eyes of Mrs. Torrance, and he really loved her as deeply as his nature permitted.

Her last look was for him. Her last words were, "I only care about dying because I have to leave you, Jack, and our child." Her last act had been to place unreservedly in his hands the small portion of her fortune which up to then she had held in her own right.

"You shall have it to the last penny, dear," she had said. "There are only you and Ralph. No fear of your failing to care well for him."

And so he did and had done, according to his idea of caring, during the years that had passed since the death of his wife.